


In My Time Of Waking

by aliitvodeson



Series: I Write Porn Like It's A Bedtime Story [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hand Job, Knife Play, M/M, Plot What Plot, Reichenbach AU, Reichenbach-Related, back from the dead, johniarty, tiny bit dub con if you squient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2000643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliitvodeson/pseuds/aliitvodeson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John can't sleep. Not since the man he gave his life to, his whole body and being, died. Suicide they called it. John knows it to be murder. But the nightmares plague him all the same, with that beautiful face hovering over him in the darkness. He can't go back to sleep, not after waking up screaming.<br/>Luckily, someone is making a midnight return to the land of the living.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Time Of Waking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Johniarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/gifts).



> This began as a way to cheer John up, and then got out of control.

John was tossing and turning on his bed, having one of those terrible nightmares. Watching him die. Him. The one man that John made an exception for. Dying, over and over and John couldn't stop him. John woke up screaming for him nightmare, blankets tangled around him, the summer air in his bedroom heavy on his skin. He gasped, shut his mouth and lay back on the pillow. He tried to go back to sleep. He rolled over, and screamed again. There was a face staring back at him. the face of a dead man.

John finds himself shrinking back against the mattress, wishing that gravity would pull him down through the feathers. "No, no. You're dead. I buried you, you're gone." The man leans over the bed, tilting the mattress as he presses his hands onto it. "You buried a fake body. Not actually me." John opens his mouth to protest. A finger slide over his lips. "Hush Johnny boy. Daddy still loves you the most."

John tries to speak around Jim's finger on his lips, the man who shouldn't be here, the man who can't be here, but all Jim does is slide his finger between John's lips. John closes his lips, sucking, like Jim taught him to do. Jim giggles, pushing his finger further into John's mouth. "That's it Johnny. You're mad, but you remember who's boss don't you? That's okay, Daddy forgives you." He giggles when John, still trying to speak around the digit in his mouth, runs his tongue over Jim's knuckle.

Jim pulls his finger free of John's mouth with a loud plop. John stares up at him. The criminals face is half in darkness, leaning over Jim in that creepy way Jim always had around him. A mad grin on his lips, and even as John watched, his tongue flicked out like snake. "Now, I know you want answers, and trust daddy, you'll get them. But Daddy's been two years without his precious little Johnny boy, and that's much too," he drags it out until it's several seconds to go through the word, "long."

John gulped, his adam's apple bobbing as Jim slide his hand down John's neck. "Do.. Do you really want to do this now?" Jim giggles, and before John can stop him, swings his leg over John's waist, pinning him against the sheets in a mimicry of the way they'd first made love, so many years ago. "I've thought of nothing else, darling Johnny, for the past two years. Nothing but you," his hands travel down John's side, "your skin, the way you taste on my lips. Nothing but you and your screams."

John has taken to sleeping in his shirt and boxers, despite his resumed bachelor status. Jim runs his hands over the cloth of John's shirt now, licking his lips, fingers pressing against John's muscles as if the blue material wasn't even there. He's so gentle, covering every bit of John's chest with that same caress like touch. Just testing almost. "Has my boy been good while I was gone? Has he missed his daddy?" The question is asked in a quiet voice, just louder than a whisper.

Again, John opens his mouth to speak and Jim cuts him off before he can form a proper word. This time it's be making his hands jump to John's nipples, pulling at them with fingernails that hover slightly below sharp. John gasps with a wide mouth, arching up into Jim's hands, head hitting the pillow. It's been so long, so very long... Jim is laughing. "That's it, Johnny. Show daddy how much you missed him. Nothing you could do was ever as good as Daddy's touch was it?"

Jim teases John's nipples, tugging on them one second, digging in his nails sharply the next, then switching to simply rubbing them with the pads of his hands. It's merciless it's horrible John can't stand it would Jim just please please give him something more than this! Jim laughs loudly, and John blushes, clamping his runaway mouth shut. He hadn't known that he was saying all of that out loud. It wasn't supposed to be out loud. Jim was smiling down at him in the manner that said he knew it.

"You did miss me." Jim's hands are suddenly, terribly, absent from John's chest. The doctor keens, embarrassed by himself even as he makes the noise. But Jim teases at the waistband of his pants, looking at the vague tent shape there. Jim leans down, shifting back to rub his hip bones against John's hardness as his fingers pluck at the elastic band. "You did miss daddy, didn't you? Well that's good, because daddy's going to make you feel just right."

"Jim, not now! I've got work in the morning, and there's the clinic and-" Jim cuts off John's last out burst of strength. The words were his final protest before Jim's lips close over his. It's passive, Jim's tongue invading John's lips and cutting off his air supply. John clings to him, grabbing at Jim's suit and pulling the man closer. If he couldn't stop Jim, he could have a little more control over where Jim was. He wanted Jim close to him, so close he couldn't possibly leave.

Jim's hands pulled at John's boxers. John lifted his hips, pushing his feet against the mattress, feeling the material slide down his legs. Then Jim was pulling at his shirt. Reluctantly, John broke the kiss, moving his head back onto the mattress and lifting his arms. Instead of helping him, Jim giggled and pulled out a knife from somewhere in his suit. "Let's get that ugly shirt off. Daddy doesn't like it at all." John gasped as the blade tore away his clothing, never once nicking his skin.

When the tatters of John’s shirt lay scattered around his chest, Jim lays the blade across the valley between John’s nipples, the pointed tip just barely touching his left one. The former army doctor holds back a gasp, trying so very hard not to move, not to breath, not to do anything. It’s extremely hard. Jim, hands now free to wrap around John’s penis, are doing exactly that, and John doesn’t want to move because of the knife but he has to move to get anything more around his length.

“Move, Johnny,” Jim whispers. Almost against his will, John does. Each thrust upwards brings with it the sweet friction between Jim’s fingers, while the earthward fall brings the painful bite of the knife on his skin. He can’t stop, he won’t stop. John doesn’t stop until he spills all over Jim’s hand, leave a white splatter on the bedsheets. Jim leans over, straddling John’s waist, and presses his ear to John’s chest.

“Still beating, dead doctor.” John feels Jim’s still present hardness pressing almost painfully against his own softening dick. “Let’s make it race.”


End file.
